Every Bright and Broken Thing

Chapter Twelve - Ezra

"So, are you going to tell me what happened?" she asks, eyes on the road ahead of her.

Staring out the window, chin propped in the palm of my hand, I inhale deeply, then turn to her. "Do you really wanna know?"

"Sure. I mean, I did pick you up from the police station after all. I'm curious."

I smirk. "Curiosity killed the cat."

"Good thing I'm not a cat." She smiles at me and I laugh at that.

"Fair enough." I pause. "The new guy at work framed me for stealing money."

Elaine nods. "So... did you do it?"

I shoot her a look. "No. I didn't."

"Sorry." She laughs. "Just thought I'd ask."

"So how'd they clear you?"

"Security cams."

"Classic."

I laugh. "You'd think Jerry would know better than to commit a robbery considering we live in the most technologically advanced generation in history."

"Yeah, Jerry was dumb. Don't be like Jerry."

We laugh. The sound lifts some of the weight that lingers over me.

When we get to the impound lot where my truck was towed after my arrest, she parks on the curb and turns to me. "What will you do now?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Try and find a new job, I guess. Gotta pay the rent somehow." There it is – the heavy thing that I'm too scared to say.

Brow furrowed, she says sweetly. "If you need any help with anything, just let me know."

I smile. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Thanks for the ride, Elaine."

"You know, when I said we should hangout sometime, this isn't what I meant. So if you think you've somehow gotten out of it, you're sorely mistaken."

Laughing, "Thanks for the heads up."

"Seriously, though. If you need any help, you know where to find me."

"Thanks." I close the door, turn to the impound lot.

I feel so lost.

A week of unsuccessful job hunting later, I get the first notice. RENT PAST DUE. Holding the pink paper between my fingertips, my heart plummets. Crumpling the paper into a ball, I throw it across my apartment. It hits the window and bounces to the floor. My back against the door, I slide slowly to the floor and bury my face in my hands. What do I do? If I can't find a job, my landlord will evict me. But no one wants to hire an art school dropout who was fired from his last job. I almost start to think Jerry had it right when he stole from Bob.

I have to survive. Somehow. But it's like the whole world is fighting against me, determined to see me fail. A small part of me wants to be angry at the world and everyone else. But deep down I know that my own choices led me here. I want so much to make choices that will lead me out of this place, but it seems so far beyond my control.

What do I do?

Dragging myself to my feet, I turn to the fridge and pull out a bottle of beer. I pop it open and reach into my pocket for the painkillers. Swallowing the pill, I chase it down with a drink. I survey my bare apartment and consider my options, which are dangerously few.

I can either find a job – which is out of my hands.

Or I end up on the streets of Chicago, one of the most dangerous cities in the world.

God, help me.